“Is there room service? I like room service.”
I put the black blade in the ignition and start the car.
“How does Rinko feel about you spending time with me? She knows about us, right?”
“She’s not brain-dead, so yeah, she knows. I told you before, Rinko and I aren’t married. She knows you and I have something and you know she and I have something. No one has to be here who doesn’t want to be. I mean, there’s nothing that’s stopping you from seeing someone else.”
“I’m not interested in anyone else.”
“Really? Is that why Sasha Grey had her tongue down your throat last night?”
“Brigitte? That was nothing. Just a couple of old zombie slayers who haven’t seen each other in a few months.”
“Another month and you two would have been dry-humping on the bar.”
“And spill our drinks? Against the bar maybe, but not on it.”
“Keep talking and I won’t go back to your suite with you.”
“You started it.”
“Did I? I don’t remember. Home, Jeeves.”
I pull a U-turn across four lanes of traffic and head for the freeway. When we pass the garage Ivan and his pal are still wrestling.
We’ve been on the freeway maybe five minutes when I spot the pickup truck. It’s not hard. It’s been on our tail since we got on the road. It’s white like a rental but the windows are tinted opaque black. There aren’t many rental companies that do that, and by “not many,” I mean none.
“We’re being followed.”
Candy turns and looks out the back window.
“Which one?”
“The white pickup.”
“Are you sure?”
“Let’s find out.”
I stomp the accelerator and the Porsche tears a hole in the traffic ahead. I squeeze between two SUVs as they’re changing lanes and cut off a cable-company truck trying to pass a wrecker on the shoulder. Candy turns and looks out the back.
“The pickup is still there.”
“Put on your seat belt.”
“You always sound so serious when you think we’re going to die.”
“I have an allergy to being dead.”
“I didn’t say I minded. I like it when you talk butch.”
“Good. Shut up and keep an eye on the truck for me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Of course the truck can keep up with a Porsche. It’ll be some of King Cairo’s crew in a pickup souped up with Aelita’s Golden Vigil tech. Outrunning the asshole isn’t an option. The only thing I can do is stay clear of it until one of us grows wings or runs out of gas.
I let the wrecker pass and when the traffic thins for a second I jerk the steering wheel, blasting the Porsche across all six lanes to the far side of the road. A second later the truck follows. I cut back a couple of lanes.